


Of Stone and Storms

by LunaMoth116



Series: Anais: A Life Unexpected [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dwarf/Human Relationship(s), Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Insecurity, Kissing in the Rain, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rain Sex, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 10:42:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13702824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaMoth116/pseuds/LunaMoth116
Summary: One stormy day, Alistair worries that he can’t give Anais everything she’s accustomed to. Anais is determined to prove him wrong. Fluff, sap, smut, but mostly smut.





	Of Stone and Storms

**Author's Note:**

> _Because when the muse demands smut, you just have to go with it. (Even when it’s smack in the middle of a workday…yes, this actually happened.) I suspect she wanted it after the bare minimum of shippiness in “Like A Mirror”. Of course, what was meant to be simple PWP ended up being…not so simple. This was written to, of course, RainyMood ([rainymood.com](http://rainymood.com), which I cannot plug enough), and Sade._ Lots _of Sade._  
>  _As is typical for me, I guesstimated the final word count and ended up being off by, well, about two or three thousand words. Maybe it’s a gift? Per my usual, the smut is built up to, so this story may not be for those looking for a quick fix, as it were._  
>  _While I would consider this story a (very) loose sequel to the first two stories in the Anais series — “Liquid Crystals“ and “Where Stone Meets Steel” — it’s otherwise a stand-alone, so you don’t need to have read any of the others. Though if you enjoy this one, why not try the rest? :) Thank you for reading!_
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** _If I owned it, we would have gotten a lot more scenes like this in_ Origins. _’Nuff said._

“ _Anyone who says sunshine brings happiness has never danced in the rain.”_

_~ Anonymous_

 

The storm had rolled in nearly an hour ago, and showed no signs of letting up. Anais’s group had been smart enough to pitch their tents as soon as the clouds had darkened and the telltale winds began to blow; they had finished making camp just in time for the skies to open up. Alistair now sat huddled with her in her tent — their tent now, really — listening to the comforting yet insistent patter of the rain beating relentlessly on the canvas. Though they’d been walking for a few hours before the storm, neither was tired enough to nap. She shifted on the bedroll, and the blanket wrapped around her knees slipped down. Instinctively, automatically, he reached to pull it back up. She didn’t stop him, instead snuggling closer into the protective arm he had around her shoulders.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked her.

The young dwarf nudged him, looking at him sideways. “That’s the third time you’ve asked since we got in here. I’m fine, love.”

“I just want to make sure,” he said innocently, giving her a lopsided smile.

“I know, and I appreciate it.” Her words were tempered with affection, and she leaned to rest her head against him. He thought back to the day they’d first met — a day now firmly etched in his memory — and how even then, still reeling from betrayal and the struggles of life on the surface, she’d seemed as staunch and solid as the stone she’d been hewn from. Now, as she molded her body against his, he was reminded of all the ways he had learned that she, like even the hardest gems, could soften and yield with warmth and the right touch.

And yet…he couldn’t help but wonder if he was enough. Maker, she’d been a _noble_ , a _princess_ , accustomed to the finest in life from the day of her birth. Him, on the other hand — well, he might have the blood of a king, but he had the upbringing of a stable boy and the trappings of a Grey Warden. Certainly, the night he had given her the rose, he had seen her face light up in a way he had never witnessed before, that only made him fall harder for her. Then, of course, there was their first night together, when he had given her something no other woman would ever receive, and she had held him, kissed him, cuddled him afterwards, told him over and over his performance had been wonderful, often without him even asking.

He had given her those things, and advice whenever she asked him for it (which was surprisingly often), and as much else as he could think of — trading night watch shifts or taking her turn to cook dinner when she was exhausted, running errands before she asked him to, even buying her a birthday cake. He knew she was grateful for all of it, that she loved him for it. But…she deserved so much more. More than he might ever be able to give her.

“Alistair?” Her voice startled him.

“Hm?” Not the most articulate reply, perhaps, but it was all he could think of.

“You seem kind of distant. Something on your mind?”

“Besides the whispers of the archdemon?” _And you. It’s always been you._

She snorted. “You, too? Maybe if we both concentrate, we can tell him to _be quiet_ for once. Pretty sure the darkspawn have gotten the message.” Unfortunately for him, she didn’t leave it at that. She looked at him, concerned. “Don’t start with the jokes. If something’s bothering you, talking about it might help.”

Sure, except how did he talk to her about, well, _her?_ But there was no use trying to hide. He wanted her to have all of him, even the parts she might not like. She deserved that much.

He took a deep breath, looking her in the eye. “Anais…am I good enough for you?”

She stared at him, stunned. “What? Alistair, how can you ask me that? Of course you are. You’re more than good enough for me, as my friend, my lover, everything in-between. I don’t care what anyone else thinks, and neither should you.”

“I know. I don’t, really. But…” He paused. “It’s not what anyone else thinks, it’s what _I_ think. And I think you deserve so much better than me.”

She blinked, swallowing hard. “Are you…breaking up with me?”

“No, no!” He quickly wrapped his arms around her, reassuring her. Maker, how had this conversation taken the wrong direction so quickly? Of course, he could only ever lead in the wrong direction. Not like her. “No, that’s the last thing I want! It’s just… Maker’s breath, how do I explain this?” How had what had seemed so clear in his head a minute ago come out as badly as this?

It didn’t occur to him that the reason might be because he was wrong.

Anais, calmer now, put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

“All right.” He was quiet for a minute or two, carefully choosing his words before speaking again. “Anais, for everything that you are, for everything that you’ve done and still do, you deserve the best in the world.”

Anais smiled, playfully poking his nose. “Of course. Why do you think I chose _you_ , silly man?”

He smiled back briefly, but wasn’t content to let the conversation end there. “Anais, you… Maker’s breath, before all this, you were _royalty_. You always had the best in life.”

“And look where it got me,” Anais said dismissively, gesturing to their meager surroundings. “A hard bedroll, no door, and having to find my own food. I’ve heard people up here say that you can’t take it with you. They’re right.”

“Maybe so, but…” Alistair stopped, gathering his thoughts again. “I know I tell you this all the time, but you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. You’re kind, clever, strong, beautiful — all that and more. What can _I_ do for you that can possibly measure up to all that? Make you soup? Hold your hand on walks? Give you a rose?”

Anais held up a hand to stop him. “I think I understand now.” She didn’t look angry or upset, only concerned. She reached down to take his hands, which swallowed up hers in a swath of palms and fingers. “Alistair, while my circumstances aren’t exactly ideal, there are many, many things about my life now I wouldn’t change for anything.” She squeezed his hand. “ _You_ are one of them.”

He nodded, knowing she meant it, and believing her, but still not believing it himself.

“And all those things you just mentioned —” she gestured vaguely around them “— do you see anyone else doing them for me? Sure, everyone around here pulls their own weight, and I get on well with most of them. I’d even say I’m friends with some of them. But none of them do all the things that _you_ do for me every single day, that you did for me even before we got together. And you’re not my servant; you don’t do those things because it’s your duty. You do those things because you love me.”

She looked at him, her dark eyes solemn. “I’ve been in relationships before — you know that. But I’ve never, ever been loved the way you love me. And _that_ is a gift only _you_ can give me.”

Alistair swallowed around the growing lump in his throat. He honestly had not expected to hear everything she had just said. Loving her came as naturally to him as breathing; he never gave any thought to all the little things he did for her, just did them as easily as he might do them for himself. How had he not realized how much all of that truly meant to her?

Before he could answer, Anais sighed. “But of course, this is all just talk, isn’t it? It’s easy enough for me to _say_ that you do enough for me, but…” She paused, seeming to consider something as she looked away. Alistair wisely did not interrupt. A lifetime of dwarven politics had certainly taught her that words meant little compared to actions.

Finally, she looked back at him, brighter now. “I think I know how to prove it to you.”

“How?”

Her dark eyes gleamed. “I’m going to ask you to do something no one else has ever done, or will ever do, for me.”

“Polish your daggers?” he managed to quip despite his nervousness. Potential innuendo aside, he knew how much pride she took in maintaining her weapons, never letting anyone else near them.

Anais laughed. “Not now, not ever. No, something much better.” She pressed his hands between hers. “Will you make love to me now, outside in the rain?”

Alistair gulped. Had she — had she really —? Was she —?

The way she was looking at him now was his answer. That and the fact that she was reaching for the hem of her shirt.

“Wait, Anais.” She stopped, looking inquisitive but not impatient. “Why — why now? Why this?”

Though Alistair certainly welcomed every opportunity to make love to her, this time he felt strangely compelled to learn just _why_ she wanted to do it this way — _wet_ and _cold_ and not terribly romantic, as far as he could see.

“Well, you already know part of the answer.” She crossed her legs. “You know how much I love rain, Alistair.”

He nodded; he certainly did, from the first time it had rained after Ostagar and the rest of the group had retreated into their tents, when he looked outside to see her standing out in the storm, staring skyward, her eyes wide with wonder. Even now he still regretted not taking his chance to talk to her then, to start getting to know her much sooner.

“And you know how much I love _you_ ,” Anais went on, her tone softening.

“Yes,” Alistair said fondly, reaching to stroke her cheek. “But I still like to hear you say it, just to remind me.”

Anais smiled. “So, seems fitting, doesn’t it?”

Put that way, he supposed so. Before he could answer, Anais grabbed his hands again. “Alistair, I never planned on _any_ of this: being a Warden, coming to the surface, meeting you…” She trailed off for a moment before continuing. “When I came up here, I never thought I’d feel rain on my skin, much less fall in love again — and with a human, no less.” She looked at him gravely, running her thumb over his knuckles. “You want to give me something I’ve never had? Do this for me. Make love to me in the rain.”

Alistair swallowed hard, understanding now.

Instead of replying, he leaned down and kissed her. It was gentle at first, soft, like the kisses they stole regularly when they thought no one was looking (though someone often was). Within moments, though, the kiss quickly turned insistent, passionate, as his fingers speared into her hair and she reached to wrap her arms around his neck. The growing hardness between his legs was not lost on either of them as she moved closer, nearly climbing into his lap as they kissed.

“So where are we doing this?” Alistair asked when they finally came up for air. “Hopefully not in the middle of camp?”

“As much as Zevran would love that, no.” She thumbed over her shoulder to their right. “That little clearing we passed before we found this one — it’s close, but far enough that they won’t hear us. I think it’s the perfect spot.”

Alistair pulled her to him again, kissing her harder, relishing her sigh as he ran his tongue over her lip. He pulled back just enough to murmur, “Being with you, anywhere is perfect.”

She grinned as she rose, moving towards the tent flap. Just before stepping outside, she asked, “Grab a blanket, will you, love?”

Good thing she had remembered; the way he was feeling now, Alistair wouldn’t have trusted himself to put the right boot on each foot. He took the blanket from their bedroll, folding it up as he joined her outside.

The rain was falling hard, in steady yet relentless streams, splashing off every surface and quickly beginning to soak the two of them, their clothes and hair starting to cling to their skin. Alistair pushed away the urge to immediately dart back into the tent and curl up under the blanket. He looked at his love, desiring and eager, and all at once any wish to take shelter vanished.

 _She_ was all the shelter he’d ever need.

His shelter grabbed his hand, smiling widely, and with a giggle she took off running. Startled, it was all he could do to keep up with her at first before matching her pace, his laughter soon mingling with hers. Before long, they found the clearing, small yet more than big enough for their purposes. Alistair spread the blanket in the center, having just laid down the last corner when he found Anais beside him again. They were at eye level — a rare occurrence when they were both standing — and of course he took the chance to kiss her again, tasting the raindrops on her lips.

When the kiss ended, Anais seemed to be thinking. “You know, I’ve heard people up here talk about kissing in the rain, but that’s the first time we’ve ever done it.”

Thrilled at having given her something new without even thinking about it, Alistair asked, “So what do you think?”

She gave him a sly grin. “It’s wet.”

He chuckled, moving in for another kiss, but it seemed Anais was done with preludes. She stepped back, reaching for the bottom of her shirt again. So much for his wanting to admire her in a wet frock, but perhaps that could be for another time. Wanting to keep up, Alistair moved to take off his shirt as well, struggling a bit to peel it off from where it was glued to his body, but he managed. Glancing up and seeing Anais nearly done undressing spurred him on, and he nearly tore off the rest of his clothes in his haste not to keep her waiting.

By the time he was done, she was standing on the blanket, waiting patiently. He looked up as he tossed away his boots and swallowed hard. Maker…she could take his breath away every time. She knew it, too, judging by the little smile she gave him in response to his stare. Yet there was no mocking in her expression, only warmth. He hardly felt the rain falling around him at this moment.

In two steps he joined her on the blanket, pulling her flush against him as he bent to kiss her again. She kissed him with a hunger mirroring his own as their bodies pressed together, trapping rivulets of water between them. Eventually, his legs folded beneath them to sit on the blanket, taking her with him in a practiced move that barely broke their contact. Their rain-slicked mouths moved easily against each other, lips and tongues sweeping together, giving and taking in equal measure, only parting when Anais pulled away. Alistair’s whimper of protest gave way to a moan of pleasure when she began kissing and nipping gently down his neck, her small hand moving along the plane of his chest until she found his nipple, flicking it almost casually with her thumb. His responding groan was not nearly as nonchalant.

As much as he wanted to reciprocate, he let her continue, let her talented mouth make her way down his body, her lips navigating the patterns of scars she knew nearly as well as her own. He would have thought she was whispering the stories of each one as she kissed her way along them. She knew them all by heart.

All too soon, her tongue brushed over his nipple and he jerked, sighing with pleasure. Maker, did that feel good…maybe a little too good, judging by the growing ache between his legs. They’d done this enough times that he no longer came in his drawers before she’d even taken her shirt off, but he still didn’t fully trust himself in that area, so to speak.

Besides, why should she get to have all the fun? He let her continue exploring him for a bit longer, but when her hand found its way between his legs, he quickly stopped her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, puzzled, but understood when he maneuvered her back a little, just enough to put breathing space between them.

He took a moment to admire her as she sat back up, the crystalline streams of water flowing over her body, and the heat that spread through him made the rain pouring over him feel like a hot bath.

As his gaze moved over her, a clear drop beaded on the tip of one of her dark, perfect nipples; impulsively, he leaned in to lick it off. As his tongue swept over the hard, eager nub, he was startled by the moan she let out in response. He tried to move, but felt her fingers grasping his head, holding him closer.

“Do that again,” she breathed.

Well, he had no intention of stopping _now._ He licked another shining drop off her other nipple, slower this time, and was rewarded with a lower, longer moan. Even when they had been together in private, he had always felt like she was holding her pleasure back, firmly intent on keeping it from prying ears. Now, alone with him here, the sounds of the storm drowning her out, she seemed to have no such reservations.

He _liked_ it.

Eager to keep her going, he concentrated on her breasts, on catching each and every drop of water that ran off them. He alternated between them, using his hand on the one his mouth wasn’t occupied with, chasing the drops with his thumb instead of his tongue, circling around her nipple before brushing over the tip, feeling it rise to meet his touch. Her bare skin was hot even through the cool water, and he thought idly that he might like to take a bath with her sometime.

Yes…that would be _very_ nice. Though it was hard to imagine anything being better than this…

His hungry mouth moved between her breasts, kissing and tasting them as he drank up each droplet he chased down her skin. She writhed against him, her grip on his head tightening, and as her own lips and tongue circled his ear he could just make out a chorus of _ohh_ and _yes_ and _there, please, there_.

He could have stayed like that for hours, but to his surprise, she began to move up and down against him, her breathing quickening. Before he could react, she was nudging him backwards on the blanket. He didn’t understand until she fell backwards, trying to pull him with her, and it was only when he finally understood that he came with her, catching himself in time to avoid crushing her as she spread on the blanket underneath him.

As dazed with desire as he was, he paused to capture this image in his mind forever.

The woman he loved, naked beneath him, wet and glistening in the rain, offering herself to him completely. He could not have thought of a more perfect moment.

She didn’t give him time to admire her for long as she impatiently tugged at his head and he complied, bending to swipe more droplets from her begging nipple with his tongue before engulfing it with his mouth. She arched beneath him, her moans seeming to echo off the trees as he drank deeply from her, drawing the water into his mouth along with her breast, rolling the other with his palm.

As he moved to her other breast, sucking gently at first and then harder in response to her tug on his head, he felt her begin to shift beneath him. He started to sit up, thinking she wanted to move again, but she pulled him back down with a breathless “Don’t you _dare_ stop now.”

Chuckling, he murmured, “Your desire is my command,” cutting off her reply by kissing a drop from her nipple, just brushing it with his lips before nibbling it gently and pulling it back into his eager mouth. She gasped, urging him on as he began to caress the other breast, plucking and rolling the tip, and to his amazement her breaths became sharper and shorter again as she began to rock against him. He picked up the pace, suckling, nibbling, teasing, tasting, feasting on her skin, and she was there with him, urging him on as she began to tremble beneath him, moaning and incoherent, burning like a fire the rain could never hope to extinguish.

Then all at once, he heard her breath catch, her moans reaching a fever pitch, and he looked up just in time to see the now-familiar flush blossom through her skin, her breast falling from his mouth as she shuddered, eyes closed, and pulled him hard against her, as if he were an anchor that could keep her from washing away on her waves of pleasure.

Pleasure only _he_ could give her.

“Ancestors…” she murmured once she relaxed, before turning to look at him tenderly, kissing him lightly. “That’s never happened to me before.”

He stared at her, mesmerized. “You — you mean —?”

“Yes.” She gazed at him lovingly, her smile saying the rest.

Oh. So she _hadn’t_ shuddered from cold. Far from it.

Alistair had no idea what to say, so he pressed kisses along the slope of her neck as he considered. He had heard, from Zevran and others, that that sort of thing was possible, but to actually _do_ it, without meaning to… He hadn’t been the first man to make love to her, and that had never bothered him. After all, _he_ was the one she wanted now. But to be able to do something for her no one else had ever done…he couldn’t help the burst of pride that rose in his chest at that moment.

Of course, he didn’t have long to think on that as she sat up abruptly, pushing him back. “My turn,” she said, grinning.

Obediently, Alistair lay down, resisting the urge to pull her on top of him. She’d be there soon enough.

Within moments, she was between his legs, but didn’t take him in straight away. Instead, she lowered her mouth to his cock, and he gasped in surprise and pleasure as her tongue ran up its length, catching a stream of water with it. She did that several more times, using both the smooth underside of her tongue and the rougher surface, drinking from him like a seasoned tavern-goer as he moaned in sheer ecstasy.

She was perfect. This was perfect.

This was the _best_ idea she’d ever had.

He didn’t even give a second thought to the fact that he was lying naked and vulnerable in the woods, with no weapons nearby. If anyone — or anything — interrupted them, Anais could easily take them out barehanded. Or he could always bite their ankles. That would work, right?

That fleeting question was quickly forgotten as Anais took him in her mouth, still lapping at errant raindrops with that talented tongue. She glided up and down his rain-slicked cock, warmth and silk and moisture, her tongue tracing new paths along the way, and it was all Alistair could do to hold back. He was not as reserved with his voice, emboldened by the knowledge that no one could hear him, his groans and sighs of happiness seeming to echo off the trees. He longed to touch her, but could barely reach her, so instead settled for resting his hands at his sides, crumpling the blanket in his fists.

Before long, he could feel the pressure beginning to build, which spelled trouble. “Anais,” he managed to gasp. “Anais, love, I’m —”

Mercifully, she heard him, and as her mouth left his cock the temperature seemed to drop. She smiled. “Well, we can’t have that just yet, can we?”

Before he could respond, she was sliding up his body, her skin slippery and smooth against his. She straddled him, placing her hands on his chest as she slowly, agonizingly, lowered herself onto him. Her eyes slipped closed and her lips parted slightly as she took him in, and Alistair nearly came apart at the sight.

Maker, how did she do this to him without even knowing it?

How did _he_ do that to _her?_

She was still tight from her earlier release, and Alistair’s head fell back with a groan as she sank onto him, enveloping him in her wet heat. He fought the urge to thrust up into her, letting her take control. When she stopped moving, he looked up to meet her eyes, and nodded at the question he saw there.

She began to ride him, slowly at first, then increasing her pace as she seemed to lose awareness of her movements, letting the pleasure sweep her away as she began to moan. Even through his rapidly approaching climax, Alistair managed to reach up and take hold of her breasts, massaging them and rolling her nipples with his thumbs, and she leaned into his touch as her moans grew louder, his name joining the chorus. He finally lifted his hips to drive up into her as she clenched around him, keeping firm hold on her as they found their rhythm.

Given the size difference, he had always been so worried about accidentally hurting her. Over time, as they learned and explored each other in and out of bed, he realized he never had to worry. She wasn’t a delicate, airy-fairy noble who would have been more concerned with fixing her hair than reaching her peak. He could hold onto her knowing she would never break.

As she continued to move up and down, Anais grabbed one of his wrists, guiding him wordlessly to between her legs, and he understood what she wanted. He found the spot she had shown him on their first night together — a place, she admitted coyly, she had touched often while thinking of him — and she fell back, gasping, as his thumb brushed over the bundle of nerves there. He gulped for air, swallowing raindrops, struggling to remember to breathe while keeping his fingers moving on her, thrusting up into her, wanting more heat, more depth, more _her_ , more everything.

Tension pulsed and swelled inside him, and he knew the end was near. She seemed to know it too, as she rotated her hips, grinding against him. He met her thrust for thrust as she began to tremble in his grasp, and all at once she contracted around him, crying out her pleasure to the skies as she fell forward onto him. He tumbled over the edge after her, his cry matching hers as he filled her, completed her, as she slammed down on him one last time to take all of him in. The rain blinded him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t have to see her to know what she was feeling.

She collapsed onto his chest, still connected to him, and as he wrapped his arms around her he felt his cock softening inside her. That didn’t matter as he clung to her, one hand wiping the water from his eyes as the other massaged the cool rain into her burning skin.

It was Anais who spoke first.

“At least we don’t have to go far to clean up,” she teased.

Alistair laughed, remembering how surprised he had been to learn just how messy sex really was. Since then, he always kept a few clean cloths and extra water in his waterskin just in case.

He felt her hand slip into his as she looked at him, nearly melting at the sheer adoration he saw in her eyes. “Thank you, Alistair, thank you for doing this for me. I love you.”

His fingers tightened around hers as he lifted his head to kiss her. “I love you, too, Anais. I think _I_ should be thanking _you_.”

The salty, musky scents that always accompanied their lovemaking were magnified tenfold in the fresh, moist air. He inhaled deeply, wanting to hold on to all of it. Wanting to hold on to her forever.

Soon enough, though, common sense prevailed and they got up, gathering their clothes and the thoroughly ruined blanket. They dressed just enough to be barely decent, given that getting _into_ wet clothes was significantly harder than getting _out_ of them. Hand-in-hand, they raced back to their tent, not caring who saw them half-clothed as they sped across the camp and tumbled into their tent together, laughing as they fell into a soggy pile of arms and legs.

Quickly, they undressed again, piling their wet garments and blanket by the entrance flap for laundering later, and dried each other off as best they could with the couple of rough, flat towels they had between them. They rubbed quickly at first, then slower, more knowingly. Anais stopped altogether once Alistair’s hands found their way to her hair, carefully undoing her pigtails before pressing and squeezing every last drop from each lock. Standing, she did the same for him, massaging his scalp through the towel as he gave a quiet sigh in response.

Before long, the strokes became touches, then kisses, then the towels were discarded and they lay back down on the bedroll, Alistair retrieving a new blanket from his backpack and throwing it over them. They lay on their sides, with her snuggling back against him as he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer.

They lay there curled up together in silence for some time, listening to the storm raging outside. The rain seemed to shield them from whatever else might be outside, protecting them and their shelter.

“You don’t suppose we’ll catch cold?” Alistair eventually asked.

Anais shrugged, her bare shoulder rising into his chest, and he heard the smile in her voice. “Don’t care. It was worth it.”

“Agreed.”

They were quiet again, giving Alistair time to reflect on what had just happened. For years he had wondered about what making love might be like; then _she_ had come along, and it had been so much more than anything he had ever dreamed of. But even after that, he had never imagined anything quite like this. He had always envisioned a soft bed, candles, rose petals, wine — everything Wynne’s beloved romance novels would have him believe was essential to lovemaking. But though he still planned to give Anais a night with all that and more someday, he wouldn’t have traded being with her in the rain for any of those things.

He shifted on the bedroll, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder. Well, except maybe for the bed. _Maybe_.

There was still one thing he wanted to know. “Anais, love?”

“Hm?”

“Earlier, when you said no one else would ever do this for you…did you mean that?”

She turned to look at him, puzzled. “Of course I did. What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing really.” He could have stopped there, but babbled on instead. “I just think there are lots and lots of men who’d make love to you in the rain if you wanted them to.” _We travel with some of them,_ he did not add.

She poked his chest. “Maybe, but think about that last part. _If_ I wanted them to.” Her hand found his, their fingers twining. “ _You_ are the only one I want, though. And come what may, you’re the only one I’ll ever want to do that with. Always.”

“Really?” he asked somewhat foolishly. “Always?”

She nodded, smiling. “Always.”

Silence fell as they lay spooned together, listening to the rain pattering on the tent. There were a few ways to interpret what she meant, but Alistair decided not to think about any of them now. All that mattered was that they were here, together, in this moment. Come what may, he would always remember this.

Of course, there was one way it could be even better, he thought after a time, as his palm began to massage her leg, then migrated to her belly. If she was willing — and judging by the way she was now pushing back into him, hungry for his touch, she was just as willing as he was…

“And how about making love _out_ of the rain?” he asked teasingly, reaching to cup her breast as she slung her leg over his thigh, her growing wetness slipping against him. “Who do you want to do that with?”

Suddenly, her hand was wrapped around his hardness and the situation seemed a lot less amusing. She turned to him with a wicked grin, kissing him thoroughly before she replied, “Give me a minute and I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“I hope we have longer than that —”

“Love?”

“Mm — yes?”

“Shut up.”


End file.
